


Omaha

by The_neigh_sayer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_neigh_sayer/pseuds/The_neigh_sayer
Summary: A little look at what John may have gotten up to in his year away from the gang.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

John slowed his horse to a trot letting the bay gelding catch his breath. They'd been on the run for three days, only stopping for a few hours at night to catch a little sleep. He was the most exhausted he'd ever been, but he wanted to make sure he put enough space between him and the gang--the closest thing he'd ever had to a family--so no one would find him. 

He knew leaving wasn't the right thing to do, but it was a kneejerk reaction. He just had to leave. The events from two days ago ran through his mind again--what Abigail had said and the look in her eyes... He kicked his horse back up into a gallop, trying to run away from the memory.

He'd packed up everything he could and left silently in the middle of the night and, as far as he knew, made his escape successfully. He'd stayed off the roads as much as possible, thankful that the gang had settled in the middle of nowhere in eastern Wyoming so as not to get caught. He didn't know where to go so he headed east. Seemed as good a direction as any at this point.

As the sun began its descent in the western sky he came upon a road. After following it for a few miles he found himself entering a fairly large town. He was relieved as he needed a few supplies. A sign indicated that he was in Omaha, Nebraska. He rode slowly through the town, nodding or saying hello to the odd passerby, and taking note of the storefronts and businesses. 

He saw a general store at the end of the street. Stopping his horse out front he dismounted and hitched him, then gave him a carrot--the last one. He sighed. He was low on food for both him and his horse, and also low on money. He looked around at the stores and the people milling about. There may be some money in this town. Maybe he'll stick around for a couple days, do a couple light robberies, then hit the road. It'd be like he was never here.

He stepped through the door into the store, his eyes adjusting to the darkened interior. He walked around, picking up the things he needed from the shelves, when an older man in an apron appeared from a back room. "Hello, sir. Anything I can help you with?" 

John shook his head. "No, thanks, I think I have what I need here." He brought his items up to the counter, and dug around in his satchel, pulling out a few dollar bills while the shop owner bagged up his things. He laid the money on the counter, picked up the bag, nodded at the clerk, and headed to the door. As he grabbed the doorknob the man called after him, "Welcome to Omaha, sir! Enjoy your time here." 

John turned and looked at him for a second, then gave a little wave. "Thank you, mister." Then he opened the door and stepped out into the early evening air.

He put his purchases into a saddlebag and mounted up, pointing his horse down the street. He rode through the town, heading for the nicer part of town with the bigger houses--where the money was. As darkness drew ever nearer the streets grew more and more empty. 

As he rode by the large houses he began to feel conspicuous and very out-of-place, so he urged his horse up into a trot and headed for the seedier part of town--where he'd fit in. He soon came upon a saloon, noise and light streaming from its windows. He sighed. He could definitely use a drink. 

He hitched up and made his way to the swinging doors, pushing through them and standing just inside, taking in the scene. There was a poker table in the corner, several men at the bar, a few with prostitutes clinging to them, and a few men sitting at the scattered tables. He sidled up to the bar and as the bartender turned to him he plunked a coin down on the bar. "Gimme a beer, would ya?" 

He felt a hand on his shoulder as a feminine voice piped up just by his ear. "Make it a whiskey, Joe. This man looks like he's earned it." 

John turned to the voice to find a prostitute standing there, smiling at him, coyly, yet also somehow innocent. Her blond hair down to her shoulders shone in the light, her green eyes trained on him, asking for one thing, but also begging to be left alone. 

He turned back to the bartender, who stood frozen, waiting for John's decision. He cleared his throat. "Sure, yeah, whiskey'll do." 

The young woman pushed in between John and the man beside him, her hand never leaving his shoulder. "So, you got a name, mister?"

The bartender set a full shot glass in front of him. He answered, "John," then picked up the glass, taking the shot in one gulp, and clapping the glass back on the bar, grimacing at the heat sliding down his throat. 

"Well, John. I reckon you're new to these parts--I ain't never seen you before. Where you from?" She made a motion to the bartender for another--a motion which did not go unnoticed by John.

As the bartender filled his glass again, John simply said, "west of here." He picked up the now-full glass and slammed the shot again, relishing the heat as it spread through his chest. 

She laughed. "A man of mystery, I like it." She motioned again, and the glass filled again. The honey brown liquid slid smoothly down his throat. 

"You got any plans this evening?" She ran her hand along his arm.

He turned to look at her, really looking at her this time. She was young--younger than him, it seemed--but had a hardened look about her. He shuddered to think of the things she'd seen or done. She had a few scars here and there, but nothing major. She was very pretty, almost beautiful. In another life she could've been a socialite, a wealthy woman in high circles. But instead she was here, a lady of the night, dealing with cowboys and losers. Men like him.

Her dress was lowcut and revealing, of course. His eyes wandered down then snapped back up to her face. He swallowed thickly. She smiled and motioned to the bartender. As John swallowed the shot she dropped her hand to his thigh, making his face go red and his groin throb. "You wanna go upstairs with me, John?"

He glanced around nervously. "Well, really, I'm not looking for any company, just some sleep." He got up from his stool and stumbled a bit--whiskey on an empty stomach was not a good idea. 

She grabbed his arm to steady him then laughed. "Some sleep would do you some good, for sure. At least let me help you up the stairs. You're liable to fall right down 'em." 

She helped him up the stairs and down a small, dimly lit hallway. Stopping at a door she opened it, ushering him inside and closing the door behind them. The lock on the knob clicked.


	2. Chapter 2

John awoke the next morning, eyes bleary and head pounding. He turned his head, trying to get his bearings, the sunlight streaming through the curtains hitting him across the face. He groaned and covered his eyes. "Ugh, what the hell did I do?" 

Rubbing his eyes he glanced around what appeared to be a motel room. He sat up, slowly putting his feet on the floor, then he remembered--the saloon; the whiskey; the girl. "Shit," he muttered. He could remember coming up the stairs with her, but then nothing. She wasn't here now, and he was still in his union suit, so maybe they didn't do anything? He snorted to himself. Who goes to a room with a whore and doesn't do anything? 

Glancing around he saw his pants, shirt, gun belt, and boots on a chair near the door. He slowly stood and walked over, his head pounding more and more with each step. He got dressed cautiously, nearly teetering over as he put his pants on. He had to piss like crazy. He buckled his gun belt on his hips and slowly opened the door, checking for anyone nearby. He walked down the hallway and peeked down the stairs for the girl. He didn't know what happened last night, so he'd prefer not seeing her again. Only seeing the bartender and a couple of men passed out at the tables, he made his way down the stairs then out the back door. He was grateful to find an outhouse behind the building. After taking care of business he went around the front of the building to find his horse still hitched at the post. 

He patted the gelding on the neck, grabbed the reins from the post and mounted up, then sat there. What now? He had no place to go, no place to stay. No job to do, no camp to go back to. He looked around at the people on the street, going about their day, no one paying any attention to him. He suddenly felt very lost and alone; he may as well have been that little twelve-year-old runt staring up at the noose hanging from a tree, terrified and pissing himself, only to be saved in the nick of time by Dutch & Hosea. Maybe they should've let me hang, he thought to himself. Would've saved a lot of people some trouble. An image of Abigail holding baby Jack popped into his mind. Then her words...

He turned his horse and spurred him off into a trot, not caring which direction he went. He figured he'd head out of town and set up camp somewhere. He needed some coffee.

\--------------------------

Later that day, after eating and getting cleaned up, he was feeling better and decided to check out the town more. He wanted to get a lay of the land, see how easy or difficult it would be to rob some houses. Maybe if he could do some houses then he'd move on to businesses. Only time would tell how successful he could be. 

The houses in the nicer part of town didn't seem like they'd be too much trouble, so he decided he'd try his luck that night. He picked one in particular and watched it from a distance for a while, seeing no movement in or around it. It was near a small park, so he hitched his horse and sat on a bench for a while, trying to look like he was just the average person, out to enjoy the quiet park, all the while keeping an eye on the house. He waited until night had fallen and the people had all retired indoors for the evening, then he walked nonchalantly across the street, creeping around to the back of the house. 

Looking in the windows he could see no lights on inside at all. He quietly stepped up onto the veranda at the back of the house and tried the knob on the back door--locked. He peeked in through the window beside it, then pushed it. To his surprise it opened easily. He silently lifted it, and slowly looked around inside. The house was dark and silent. He opened the window all the way, then slipped through it, stepping as silently as possible down onto the hardwood floor. He stood and took in what he could in the dark. It was a nice place, full of antiques. He found the stairs, crept up them, and snuck into the first bedroom. It appeared to be unused, no personal belongings, just a bed, a chair, and an armoire. He went down the hall and checked every room, finding a couple of jewelry boxes here and there. Finally, in the last room, he found a money clip in a drawer, and a lot of diamond jewelry in a jewelry box. 

Feeling satisfied with his findings he crept back down the stairs, out the window, took the time to close it behind him, and disappeared into the night. 

He repeated this for a couple more nights, creeping into houses and stealing what he could. They weren't all empty, of course, and a couple of times he was almost caught, but somehow he always managed to get away before being seen. 

He continued camping outside of town. He felt out of place amongst the townspeople and so spent a lot of time by himself at his camp. And he made sure to avoid that saloon in the hopes of not seeing the girl. But he was running low on supplies again so he had to make a trip in to the general store. He hitched his horse out front and stepped through the front door.

"Hello again, sir!" The proprietor behind the counter smiled at him. 

John nodded at him, then turned his attention to the items on the shelves. As he browsed he heard the owner talking to someone--a woman, by the sound of it. Glancing up he caught sight of blond hair pulled back into a braid, her face obscured by some items on the counter. When she turned to go into the back room, her eyes caught his, and he froze.

It was her. The girl from the saloon.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that I don't headcanon that this is what happened. It's merely an idea that came to me and I wanted to explore it. There will be twists and turns that I'm really excited to flesh out with this one. :-) Thanks for reading!!


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